Even You, Even I
by MissMandS
Summary: The thing nobody tells Sigrid about war is that there are those left behind; those who struggle to pick up the pieces of their lives and learn how to live again. The princes are one of the many; the princes who Sigrid manages to pull from their fever dreams and remind who they are. What happens after is out of their control; everything else just falls naturally into place.
1. Chapter 1

The thing that nobody warns Sigrid about is that after the battle is over, really over. When there is no more blood spilling, weapons clashing and no more screaming or war cries that she will want need to wander. It feels like every one of her nerves has been set alight by the dragon's fire. If she stops moving then the fire will spread throughout her body and make her feverish and then it will claim her completely. So she continues walking, knees threatening to turn to jelly as she glances over the bodies. There are bodies everywhere. Elves with their hair splayed out like fans, throats slit and limbs bent at unnatural angles. Dwarves with their mouths open; frozen mid scream as they stare up at absolutely nothing. Men, men she used to know. Women, women whose babies she helped deliver and played with their children.

Sigrid pushes any thoughts of them from her mind. These are not names, not faces, not dwarves, elves or men. They are absolutely nothing. If she stops then she will think. She will wonder if they have husbands, wives, sweethearts and children waiting on them at home. And that they will never be coming home again, never hugging their loved ones and telling them their home is back, their home is back and the dragon is slayed. The dragon. Sigrid thinks about her father who she clung to only a couple hours ago, fingers digging into his coat and attempting to memorize his scent beneath the sweat and smoke, the blood that did and did not belong to him. He did not say a word after the battle, only brushed his rough fingertips across their cheeks, their foreheads and let out shuddery breath after shuddery breath that formed almost sentences.

Tilda refused to let go, clinging to his neck and begging him to let her stay, for him to stay. Bain hovered too, blinking furiously. Sigrid suspects that Bain killed today, that he realized war was nothing like what he used to play with the other children. There was actual blood, actual screams and gasps as blood was choked on and limbs were wrenched from their sockets. And Sigrid, she cannot stop walking because the adrenaline will not stop setting her nerves alight. Because if she stops then she will think about the mothers and fathers, the children and those who will never be seen again, those who she will never see again except for the nightmares that plague her.

Sigrid climbs Ravenhill, gravel digging into her palms and breath coming out in white puffs of air. She yanks the skirt of her dress up and lets her boots dig into the stone, chest heaving with erratic breaths as finally she falls onto solid ground. Her fingers dig into the stone and her knees aching as she presses her forehead against the ground. There are dead goblins here, nasty creatures she knows. But still she thinks about if they maybe had families, children, friends if nothing else. She thinks about it for a moment and then she feels like there is a match, lit and far too close to her skin. Sigrid scrambles to stand up then stumbles away from the bodies. It smells too strongly of death, too much like fear for her to stay here. So she stumbles around the maze that makes up Ravenhill, blinking furiously in an attempt to ignore the bodies as her boot scrapes through blood. Now it only smells of guilt.

Sitting alone is the elf maid whose name Sigrid can almost remember. Her pale face is red and puffy, eyes bloodshot and her nose runny as she stares down at the blood. When she lifts her head she lets out a shuddering breath. There is guilt clear on her expression, sorrow mixed with exhaustion.

"Kili just laid there after he was stabbed and stared up at the sky. I tried to help him, I yelled for him." Sigrid shakes her head and curls her toes in her boots as the fire spreads further.

"No, that is not helping him. You yelled for him? Why? You distracted him from battle, you made him look away. Why? To alert the enemies to you, to draw their attention to you? Did you honestly think that would help him? Save him?" The words tumble out before Sigrid can stop them; her thoughts finally going to the families that will not be complete anymore. She is breathing heavily now, her chest heaving as she attempts to get a steady breath. She is thinking of her mother, of her father, of Bain and Tilda as she continues.

"You wanted to know he was alive, I suppose so you called his name. You wanted him to know you were alive. You wanted to believe that…What did you want to believe?" Sigrid asks and Tauriel blinks at her as if seeing her for the first time. She then looks down at the puddle of blood which her nails scrape across.

"I wanted to believe that I could save him, that I could have some shred of the fantasy that I craved. That a promise could be kept for him to return to his mother."

"No you didn't hope to keep that promise, you wanted him to return to his mother but you wanted to be by his side didn't you?" She does not answer and Sigrid repeats the question, louder. "Didn't you?" Tauriel stands up slowly, her face blank as she stares at a spot over Sigrid's shoulder. When the elven king speaks it is enough to dose the nerves that are on fire and make her feel as if she has been dunked into an ice bath.

"A fantasy that I suspect was craved by only one of the two involved, a fantasy that I suspect the other one fueled because they thought it a game. Tauriel go back to the camp, make you useful in the healing tents. Do not venture into the other camps. We have to speak with each other." Thranduil's eyes threaten to burn a hole into her back as Tauriel walks past her, head bowed. Sigrid stands there, toes curling tightly in her boots as she watches Tauriel walk away. Thranduil lingers, eyes flickering over her secondhand dress and soot covered hair.

"There are beds available in the men's camp. There is not water for bathing yet but…There should be water soon enough. I will share some soaps if I find any." And with that he walks away with a flash of silver and white, leaving her alone. Sigrid stares at the blood and then sits down, scooting until her butt is perched on the edge and her ankles crossed. She sits there for hours, ignoring the numb tingle of her butt and legs; the growling of her stomach and then nausea as the sun sets until finally her father comes, giving her braid a light tug.

"Are you all right little bird?" Bard asks. No she is not. She wants to go home. She wants to sleep. She wants to sleep in her bed with Tilda next to her, one hand clutching Sigrid's hair and the other one covering her eyes. She wants to hear the snoring of her father down the hallway because he was too tired again to make it to his bed. She wants to hear Bain attempting to sneak out of the house early in an attempt to play a game of war with the other children who he claims he became too old to play with after their mother died.

"No da, I'm not." She is tired of being strong.

"Me too." Bard says and then like she is a little girl no bigger than Tilda he lifts her up and cradles her against his chest and walks back towards the men's camp. And if he feels her crying, hears her quiet sobs then he says nothing. And for the first time that Sigrid can remember she sleeps squished between her father and siblings, trying to memorize their scents over smoke and blood and tears.

* * *

The morning comes early when she feels the mattress dip and then hears the scraping of boots across the ground. Sigrid sits up slowly, rubbing at her eyes and blinking blearily at her father who tugs his boots on.

"Sorry…I didn't mean to wake you up. I have to go and meet with Iron Hill dwarves—negotiations and such. Thorin Oakenshield is still resting." Here, resting means they're unconscious or unable to move yet without a threat of their stitches being pulled open. Sigrid glances at Bain and Tilda, still sleeping and then at Bard.

"Could I come with you? I don't want to…" She does not want her nerves to be set alight again if she sits still. She wants to help with something, anything to keep her mind from moving back to the thoughts she keeps attempting to repel. Bard hesitates then sighs, giving a very reluctant nod.

"Very well…I will ask Hilda if she can watch over Bain and Tilda." And with a hand scrubbing over his face Bard walks out of the tent. Sigrid lingers by the bed and gives the blankets a tug until Bain and Tilda are completely covered before she leaves the tent.

Unlike yesterday there are less bodies lying around but still blood covers the ground and the smell of blood and rot strong. The heady scent of smoke is still there, the musty and metallic smell of dragon still heavy. There are more people moving around, bandaged and stitched up but moving around. Sigrid stares at her boots and waits for Bard then follows after him, keeping her eyes focused on his back. She does not think of names, of faces of the people around her. She hears but does not listen to the groans of pain, the whispers and mutters of names of who has died and who cannot be found and who will never walk, speak, see or hear again. She walks after Bard until finally they are in the dwarf camp; right outside of a tent she suspects belongs to the king and the princes. Standing outside of it is a dwarf, the one she remembers threatening Bain when he came out of the toilet, leaning against his weapon.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Sigrid asks and the dwarf blinks, looking suddenly so very tired.

"We've done all we can lass…All there is to do now is wait." Sigrid glances at Bard who looks just as tired as the dwarf in front of her.

"You have done all you can as healers…But there are other ways to help them, talking to them and helping them remember who they are and that they should live." The dwarf looks ready to say no then stops and sighs, looking at a gray haired dwarf who holds a twisted and crumpled ear trumpet.

"She could be right Dwalin; we should let the lassie try. Come on, I'll take you in to them." Sigrid hesitates for a moment, clinging to Bard's coat before she lets go and steps into the tent. First she is overwhelmed at the scent of blood, of bitter tonics and sharp salves. Three dwarves whose names she does not want to remember lay in three separate beds. They're wrapped in bandages, stitched up and bloody with their eyes closed and their chests rising and falling erratically. The gray haired dwarf is telling her about their injuries, what happened. Sigrid hears but does not listen to him as she guided to a chair between the two princes. She hears absolutely everything but does not listen until the dwarf is out of the tent.

Sigrid listens then, counting the breaths of the dwarves. There is another set of breathing besides theirs and hers, one that is almost even but too shaky and nervous to be considered normal.

"It's okay, you can come out now." Sigrid says and glances towards the corner of the tent. There is some fumbling and then the halfling is taking small, hesitant steps from his hiding spot. His nose is red, dark bags beneath his eyes and his curls covered with a film of blood and filth. He looks thoroughly exhausted and anxious, glancing down at his clenched hand and then at Sigrid.

"Is it safe?" He asks and she does not know what he means but nods still because reassurance is the only thing keeping half of everyone here alive. The hobbit glances at her and then at the beds. He peers around to stare at the tent flaps. Sigrid blinks and he is gone again. She listens to the sound of footsteps shuffling across the ground that are almost silent. And then the rustle of fabric and the clink of armor as he sits beside the chair. Wordlessly Sigrid holds out her hand and gives a nervous inhale when a smaller pair of fingers link through hers. The thank you is said through a squeeze to her hand that she feels throughout her body, which is almost reassuring as one of the dwarves begins to thrash, stuck in a fever dream that no reassurance can penetrate.

* * *

This was meant to be something cute and fluffy and short but it has turned into this. I enjoy Fili and Sigrid together but cannot separate the Durin boys. And now look at this. This is what I have done.

In canon Sigrid is about fifteen years old around the time that the Hobbit takes place. The age of consent where I live is seventeen but here she is eighteen because of nitpicky issues with age.

And if you haven't realized it yet I have strong feelings about the Tauriel and Kili relationship which will be expressed here. Respectfully.


	2. Chapter 2

**WARNING: Talk of severe postpartum depression depression leading to eventual infanticide by drowning in front of another child.**

There is also some platonic bathing between a male and female character in case that bothers anyone.

* * *

Two days pass before Sigrid meets the wizard. In the two days that have passed, she has made little progress with the dwarves. They are still suffering from fever dreams, heads thrashing and hisses coming when stitches are pulled at. The healer with the gray beard still growls and mutters each time he slaps a hand across their foreheads and pours tonics and other things into their mouths. Sigrid hums hobbit songs which Bilbo whispers to her whenever everything else is absolutely silent. He tells her his name during one of the long beats of silence when she is threatening to nod off until he gives her hand a squeeze. But even with the songs she hums to Thorin Oakenshield, stumbling over some of the notes and pausing to clear her throat he does not react. Nor do the princes and after the second day she begins to feel more and more discouraged.

The wizard walks in with a swish of his robes and an air of exhaustion around him. He has a grandfatherly aura about him despite the filth covering his hair, his face and even his clothes. For a moment Sigrid worries that if he lets go of his staff he will fall over. But then he is straightening up and actually giving her an almost smile.

"I know that he's in here. Bilbo Baggins gave me quite a fright but I suppose if he was keeping you company and helping to keep worries at bay, I can excuse it. You know, there are rumors going around that there's a mouse in the camps giving everyone all sorts of terrible frights." Bilbo does not become visible but Sigrid hears him shuffling around her chair until he is facing Gandalf, letting out a frustrated huff.

"Little mouse indeed…Does anyone know where I am? Besides you and Sigrid I mean…"

"No. A few of the dwarves have asked me about you but I've barely had time to sit down let alone stop to answer questions. How is the line of Durin, has there been any progress?" Sigrid shakes her head, feeling as old as the wizard.

"I have been singing and talking to them but they continue to have fever dreams and thrash like they are still in battle. I'm told they are making progress but it does not seem like it." From Bilbo comes a small, partially disappointed, partially upset sigh.

"There are baths available in the elf camp, not the most glamorous of baths. But there are soaps available and you can get clean. Go ahead; I will take over your watch for a while." Sigrid does not object. She has been in this chair for the past two days, taking breaks to stretch her legs and to use the restroom; slinking to bed at night, drained. Her clothes reek of dragon smoke and sweat, blood and herbs. She needs to wash her hair, scrub her skin free of this experience that hangs on her like a woolen blanket left in the lake.

Bilbo walks with her, clinging the back of her blouse and walking close enough that his feet scrape the back of her ankles. Sigrid walks slowly whether because of her stiff legs or because of the fear Bilbo will let go, she's not sure. He clings to her like a child who has just lost their mother and been handed over to a relative plastered with an unfamiliar name and face who they are expected to know. She's reminded of Tilda's birth, of women whose names and faces she could not place that flooded the house after her mother lay motionless. They kept patting her on the head, shaking their own and saying 'poor things, poor things'. Now Bilbo is the poor thing. And she is the one who's name and face cannot be placed.

"Don't be scared." She whispers as they pass through an empty space between tents. Behind her Bilbo gives her blouse a small tug and she hears his breathing shift. They are entering the elves camp now where Thranduil stands in robes far too grand for after battle.

"I promised you that I would find soaps. The water is not as warm as I would prefer for myself but it's clean." The king promises and motions towards the tent. Sigrid hesitates as Bilbo's grip tightens. "I can station guards outside to make sure nobody enters." Thranduil adds and the hand loosens.

"Yes, please." There is something that is almost warmth in the king's eyes as he moves away and she enters the tent with Bilbo behind her.

The tent is not decorated and Sigrid suspects that it has been set up solely for the purpose of bathing. There is a wash tub in the middle of the tent, one which she suspects the king would probably turn his nose up at himself. Besides it is a table stacked with washcloths, towels and a variety of soaps varying in color and sizes. There is another table piled with clothes in varying sizes, all of which she suspects will be just a size too large for her and Bilbo. Behind her the grip on her blouse is gone and Bilbo is there, fiddling with the hem of his waistcoat.

"I do not mind sharing a bath with you; we have been sharing a tent the past two days after all. And we cannot exactly risk someone else coming in while you are bathing invisible." Sigrid's tone falls flat as Bilbo blushes, peeling off his stained waistcoat. Sigrid follows suit, peeling off her clothes and folding them. Staring down at herself is a slight shock. There are more bruises than she expects in places that she did not know bruises possible. On her breasts, her sides, hips and knees. She suspects there are some on her back and Bilbo confirms this when he lets out a sympathetic hiss and says 'orc club'.

The hobbit has a rather large lump on his forehead and a few bumps on his body, some occasional bruises. There are scrapes and what she suspects are burns on his ankles and the tops of his feet where some of his foot hair is singed or has been burned off completely. But she does not ask about them as she slips into the tub and the hobbit grabs a handful of soaps, half of which he hands over to Sigrid. She immediately sets to scrubbing her skin, trying desperately to wash away the blood that is hers and not hers—a mixture of battle and the ugliness of greed, the downfall of pride. Across from her Bilbo does the same though with less vigor, his gaze far away.

"They weren't always like that, you know. Coming out of toilets smelling like fish, completely exhausted and full of secrets. Well they were secretive. They used to sing tales of victory and mountains of gold and dragon fire high into the night." Bilbo says quietly.

"What were they like?"

"Grouchy, hard headed but determined. They love fiercely and deeply. Their love knows no bounds, extends beyond boundaries and lines that have been drawn and set. They are very proud too…It proved to be their downfall."

"I have never seen my da hold his head up over very much. It seemed like the master was always hovering over him, waiting to crush whatever he could find to be happy about, prideful about. But he was always proud of us." A shadow passes over Bilbo's face and his arm drops, coming to hang over the side of the washtub.

"My mother was a very adventurous hobbit. Belladonna Took went on grand adventures, visited elves and did all sorts of things that no other hobbits had ever dared to. Then I was born and after me came another baby; a year and a half later, not too uncommon for hobbits."

"My brother was a colicky baby and would scream and cry for hours on end. It put strain on my mother and father. On their marriage, on them. My mother struggled to bond with him and in turn struggled to maintain a relationship with me. There was this day and I remember it so clearly. My father wasn't home; it was just my mother home alone with my brother and me. He was crying again and she was going to give us a bath. Only she kept walking around and saying 'stop it, stop it, stop it' and hitting herself in the head, covering her ears. She grabbed me by the arm and lifted my brother roughly, more roughly than I could ever remember her doing." Bilbo stops and takes a long breath, sinking down into the tub and closing his eyes.

"She took us into the bathroom where my brother was put into the tub. My mother held him there and just kept screaming 'stop it' over and over until he stopped making noises and stopped fighting. For a long time she just sat there, the sleeves of her blouse wet and her face blank. Then my father came back and all I can remember is him screaming and asking what did you do?"

"What happened after that?"

"There was a trial held, one which Gandalf, the wizard from the tent came to. He spoke for my mother's character and said that he had heard about this sort of thing before, happening to women in the towns of men and sometimes to dwarven and elvish women. My mother was sent away to Rivendell for help from Elrond and the Lady Galadriel. When she came back I was not allowed to see her. From what I've heard she stayed in the Shire for a little bit but then…Rumors, nasty memories, she couldn't stay. I've heard all sorts of things about her over the years."

"Were you scared?"

"Oh, I can't remember what I felt. I only knew something was very wrong but I could not speak up and…I could only wait. I waited for her to notice me, to remember I was there. I was only a child myself who was scared. Who knew something was wrong but not sure what. I wanted my mother back; I wanted to be her child again." The corners of his lips quirk and Sigrid watches as he blinks furiously, looking at the ceiling of the tent.

"Me too. I wanted to be her child again too." Sigrid reaches out, letting her hand hover over his shoulder. Bilbo stares at a spot over the top of her head as he reaches up, clapping his hand over hers and squeezing it. From outside comes the sounds of footsteps shuffling and beneath her hand Bilbo is stiffening, his eyes darting around the tent with panic. Sigrid shushes him and then turns her head towards the flaps of the tent.

"The bathtub is being used right now, I'm sorry." Sigrid says as someone clears their throat.

"Kili, son of Vili, the prince of Erebor is awake and he wishes to see you. I was ordered to tell you." Tauriel's voice is flat and it makes Sigrid's toes curl against the bottom of the wash tub with discomfort. She remains silent, staring at Bilbo who blinks at her, shrugging. She doesn't look away from Bilbo as she calls her thanks, lifting the bar of soap to her head.

Sigrid and Bilbo linger in the bathtub until the water becomes uncomfortably cold then they dry off and search through the clothes. They settle on clothes that are still too big but do not drag on the ground too much and allow their hands and feet movement. It's as she adjusts the sleeves of the dress that Bilbo does something and when she turns back around Sigrid finds that Bilbo has disappeared once more, a familiar grip holding onto her sleeve.

* * *

Tauriel waits outside of the tent, face blank and posture stiff. She does not offer Sigrid any smile or friendly gazes, merely gesturing for her to follow. Sigrid waits, making sure that Bilbo's grip is still there before she follows after the elf. One thing is clear as they walk. The elves mingling about do not look at Tauriel, keeping their faces turned away and looking down or at the sky. She is noticed in the dwarven camp through hisses and whispers, hands wandering threateningly towards weapons, outright glares and dark looks. If Tauriel notices them she does not say anything, eyes focused on the royal tent.

"As far as you go tree shagger, you did your job now go." Dwalin says roughly, jerking his head. Tauriel looks ready to object but then Dwalin glowers at her and her shoulders are sagging as she turns and walks off. Dwalin looks at Sigrid with something that is not quite a smile, not quite a grimace as he opens up the tent flaps.

"Óin is in there with him now, lads ready to get up and run now. There will be others by shortly I suspect so enjoy your time with him." Sigrid hesitates as Bilbo's grip loosens and then drops away. There is a reassuring squeeze to her elbow and then he is walking away, trailed by Gandalf who steps out of the tent with a wink and a smile. With a deep breath and a curl of her toes in her boots Sigrid steps into the tent.

There is the stench of sweat now mixed with the other scents, fresh salves made for stitches. In his bed, lying down but awake is Kili. He's all dark hair and bright smile, hands folded over his stomach as Óin examines him with a mutter.

"Leave it to you laddie to wake up all smiles as if you hadn't just come off a battlefield. Come in lassie; don't be afraid to come closer. You were the first one he asked for after his brother." Kili attempts in vain to twist around Óin, frowning as the healer steps into his line of sight, hands on his hips with a deep frown. Sigrid comes to the other side of the bed, plucking at the sleeves of the elvish gown. It lasts for only a couple moments before Kili's reaching out, fingers wrapping around her wrist and holding her firmly in place.

"Was it you singing? I kept dreaming of someone singing? Well I dreamt of my mother, dreamt of her a lot…But there was this woman who kept singing. No songs I knew but they sounded nice." It makes no sense to her how someone who has just woken up, who is more stitches than skin can be so—smiley.

"I sang, yes. I talked as well, told stories and…" She trails off. He is staring at his brother who is still asleep, who is still motionless save for the steady rise and fall of his chest. "You've all been suffering from fever dreams. But we are doing all that we can." This seems to be little comfort to Kili who merely nods, gnawing on his lower lip as Óin continues to look him over. She searches her mind for some sort of comfort that she can give him.

"Can you remember anything master dwarf?" Sigrid asks

"I remember seeing Fili be dropped and the look on his face, I remember feeling this fury like I have never felt before. I wanted to destroy absolutely anyone and everyone who got in my way. Someone was calling my name over and over…I tried to help them then I was stabbed. I was staring at their face and then everything went dark but not black. It wasn't black and it wasn't cold. It was quiet."

"The stab you received was nearly fatal, how you managed to survive is nothing short of a miracle. Just a couple inches deeper, a couple inches to the left or the right…You wouldn't be here. I'm going to assume that is the stubbornness of the Durin line and the stupidity of orcs, a blessing from Mahal that the two somehow balanced each other out." Óin mutters.

"Who brought me here?"

"Bifur did. He was quite distraught by the whole ordeal of battle, he'll be quite happy to know that you're awake now. I will do my best to keep everyone away but no promises. You'll be in some pain for a while laddie…You've got muscles pulled, luckily no bones broken. There are several bruises and cuts. You will carry a nasty scar for the rest of your life and right now you're more stitches than you are dwarf. " Kili actually looks excited about the idea, giving the old healer a beaming grin which he sighs at, mumbling beneath his breath as he moves out of the tent. And then he is gone, leaving him with Sigrid. Kili immediately turns and smiles at her though it lasts only for a split second before it fades.

"There was love in her eyes when I looked at her and it looked like she was waiting, waiting for me to say it. But I couldn't. I think she wanted me to say that I loved her, that I had saved her because I did not want her to die, that I cried because I loved her. It was not love for her, it was nothing for her. I did not want anyone to die. Everyone here made a promise somewhere down the line to come home, to come back to someone. Or they had someone who cared about them. I cried because I did not get to say goodbye to Fili, I did not get to tell him I loved him one last time. Not one more hug, not one more head-butt or braiding."

"She mourns for something that she does not have." Sigrid says quietly, coming to sit on the edge of the bed as Kili hums his agreement.

"She wants for something she does not have, that she can never have. When we were in the dungeons she watched me and Fili with this look on her face. It was so curious. She has lived under the thumb of the elven king for six hundred years but does not know what love is. She believes that she knows because she was witness to something she should not have been, because of a chance meeting that happened…That shouldn't have." Kili turns his head back towards his brother, frowning. He blinks furiously and Sigrid can see the beginning of what looks like tears in his eyes. Lifting a hand she lets it hover, unsure of where exactly is okay to touch, where exactly won't make pain flare throughout his body. She settles for putting her hand by his, almost touching but not quite.

"Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable master dwarf?"

"Stop calling me master dwarf for one, I'm going to be called prince by stuffy council members soon enough. It's just Kili. No prince, no master, nothing. And there is in fact. I had these stones, rune stones. Two of them; both black, round, smooth stones. Or it's a little bit gray. I can't tell you the color…But they're very important to me. I'll give you anything if you find them. I lost one after Fili fell, while I was running. And the other one I lost right before everything went dark on Ravenhill." He gives her a smile that is one part hopeful, one part terrified.

"Okay Kili."

* * *

And so Sigrid returns to Ravenhill, tugging up the gauzy skirts of the elvish dress and digging her worn boots into the stone. The filmy sleeves catch and threaten to tear, her skirt becomes stepped on and her palms scraped by the time that she comes to the top. Most of the goblin bodies have been taken away for burning but there are still a few sparse bodies spread out, faces twisted and rotting. This time she does not think of their possible families, their maybe friends. But still she wanders around the maze until again she comes upon Tauriel who sits and stares at the dried blood and this time a stone in her hand.

"He and his brother were talking about these stones in the dungeons, about their promise to return to their mother, to each other. I wanted to be a part of the promise, how foolish of me to think that." Sigrid stares at the stone and then at her blank face.

"You're clinging to something that you want, something you cannot have. It will fester and grow until it finally comes to a head. What you feel is not love. You feel…A want. You want for Kili's attention. Not his affection. Not his heart. His attention. You want him to look at him and smile and confess his love. You want him to say there is nothing wrong with your want towards him. Your king would never give you that nor would your race. Kili would not and neither would his race. "

"You are wearing an elvish gown. Is that not your wanting to be something else?"

"I am wearing this because there are no other clothes available other than soiled ones. You want something you cannot have, something he does not want to give. You want which is not selfish. You wish which is not selfish. You try to take and that is selfish. You hope that what he has, whatever it is he has fails and that is wrong. You have lived under the thumb of the elven king for six hundred years but do not know what love is. You believe that you know what love because you were witness to something you should not have been, because of a chance meeting that happened…That shouldn't have. You are nothing more than a child who wants and wants because that is the nature of a child to want and not share. And when corned to blame and accuse and point out things that are inaccurate that have nothing to do with the situation at hand. Such is the nature of children; such is the nature of you." And without another word she takes the stone from her hand, closing it tightly and squeezing. She walks away without a goodbye, without a thank you; stopping only to wrench the other stone from a goblin's hand.

Kili is fighting sleep when she returns, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the rune stones in her hands. Kili first grabs the stones and then her hand, brushing his stubble framed lips across her knuckles. Sigrid's toes curl in her boots at the unexpected tingle, the bristle of it as he lingers, smiling up at her. When he pulls away there is hesitation in his eyes as he holds onto her hand.

"Could I ask you a favor?"

"Of course you may."

"I'm not very good at…I don't enjoy sleeping alone. Would you mind, you can just sit on the bed even but I uh…" A blush is spreading down his cheeks and throat, moving towards his chest as she begins to undo the laces of her boots. Slipping her feet out she gives her toes a small stretch then bunches up the now filthy and torn skirts of her dress, lying alongside Kili. He lies stiff, unsure of what exactly he is to do. An attempt to turn onto his side brings a hiss and a groan. Turning onto hers Sigrid puts a careful arm across his chest and the other one underneath her head. Kili lies stiff for a moment then turns his nose into her arm, letting out a sigh. After a couple minutes his breathing evens out and then he begins snoring. And Sigrid ignores the aches in her feet, the soreness of her palms and her legs tangled in her skirt as she closes her eyes.

As she falls asleep she swears that she can hear Bilbo giggle and a throaty chuckle from Gandalf. But then she is falling asleep and for the first time since the dragon shook the lake she does not dream of fire.

* * *

Remember how I promised a happy ending? Hahaha. Well Abigail (kenporusty) and I have been talking and it won't be happening. And a series has been born about the Bardlings because of us and our muses...Polyamory babies with lots of mustache rides.

Also that is a new headcanon of mine for Belladonna. Bilbo had one/several siblings but Belladonna Took suffered from severe postpartum depression and just neglected/abandoned them. Or they were killed. Gandalf stood at her trial and suggested she be sent to Rivendell for psychological help.


	3. Chapter 3

WARNING: This chapter contains talks of: an infected wound, prostitution leading to an unwanted and unexpected pregnancy, suicidal thoughts, non-sexual diaper wearing, non-sexual bed wetting due to nightmares from a traumatic event and a triggering event leading to humiliation, being held down in a bath and a threesome between a female and two males.

* * *

There are arms underneath her legs, lifting her and pulling her up towards a chest. Sigrid inhales sharply, the breath that comes right before a stretch that means waking up from such a peaceful sleep. The body pauses and she knows that it is her father, in the roughness of his coat and the roughness in his fingertips across her cheek as he adjusts her head. For a moment she is a little girl again, walking along the docks and holding the hand of her mother. She is looking up at her mother, curling her toes in the too big hand me down boots and wondering just how she could be so perfect.

But then she is being put down on a mattress so old the bed springs barely creak, a mattress covered in stains and nearly falling off the edge. Bain is beside her, his palms blistered and fingers sore. Tilda is sandwiched between Bain and their father because she will not sleep otherwise, the nightmares just too much. Her father sits on the edge for a long time, perched there in waiting with his hands over his face and his eyes and closed. Sigrid stares at his back, shoulders hunched and his jaw clenched.

"Da? Is there anything that I can do?" Sigrid asks and Bard's head jerks. The expression on his face is one part horrified, one part embarrassed that she has seen him.

"You remind me of your mother. Each time I looked at her I would think of the dolls that the children of royalty owned and the tapestries for sale my mother used to look at before Smaug. Digrna was beautiful in an eternally youthful way that nothing could touch; no dragon fire, no life of work, no digging ditches, nothing touched it. I teased her that people would wonder why she married such a man like me who grayed and wrinkled and weathered with each passing day. And each time she would give me this smile just like the one you have…" Bard trails off, face relaxing into an almost smile.

"Try hard enough and you can dream of her da," Sigrid encourages and with a hand to his shoulder Bard lays back; sighing. For a while she lies pressed against his side, listening to the sound of his breathing that is rough and too anxious to even out. Then finally bit by bit his breathing evens and she begins to feel his body relaxing and for once his face is not pinched in his sleep.

It's not a peaceful sleep. The mattress is too small to accommodate all four of them and she wakes up several times to find feet in her sides, feet tangled in hers and hands pressing against her face. At some points she wakes up because Tilda is thrashing too much and mumbling something incoherent or because Bain is attempting to lift his back off the bed from a nightmare that she cannot break him free of. The first thing she does upon waking up in the morning is strip off her destroyed elven gown and tug on some worn, secondhand clothes. The gown is folded and laid across the foot of the bed, the blankets adjusted and then she is walking back to the dwarven camp.

Kili is back to sleep, this time with two red-haired dwarves sitting by his bed. One has a rather choppy bowl haircut and is knitting what looks to be a very large blanket and the other a star haired dwarf picks at his nails with a dagger. The moment she steps through the tent the knitting dwarf lets out a squeal and drops his knitting, launching himself at her.

"I was wondering when you would show up! Óin has been telling everyone in the company, well everyone except for Bilbo that is about you. We haven't found him but I'm Ori, son of Kori and I've wanted to meet you. Do you have anything warmer? I have extra sweaters if you don't and I," The star haired dwarf pulls him away, laughing as he pushes him down into his chair.

"Settle down Ori and let the lass breathe for Mahal's sake. So this is the lass that pulled Kili out of," The color drains from his face and then both dwarves are refusing to look at her, clearing their throats and looking anywhere but at her. "Óin isn't ready to formally call it a coma yet."

"Have there been any signs of life from the others?"

"Thorin's breathing has changed on and off and his head has turned like he's searching for some kind of sound. But there is nothing yet." Ori says and gestures for Sigrid to sit beside him.

She ends up spending the day with Ori who talks between stitches and pearls and Nori who does more listening than actual talking. There are little signs of life from Kili who snores and breathes evenly, his fingers giving the occasional twitch as he turns his head or sucks his teeth. Óin pops in and out throughout the day, armed with tonics and salves for the princes and king whom he applies with grumbles and glares. Sigrid listens between beats of silence, searching for a rustle of clothes, of something scraping across the ground. But she hears nothing from Bilbo and eventually it begins to get late with still no signs of improvement from the princes or king. She leaves with a goodbye to a drifting off Ori and a dagger sharpening Nori.

And the process repeats itself for nearly a week with the sporadic awakening by Kili who offers her a grin and a tale about whatever dream he has just woken up from. She is introduced slowly to the other members of the company but still sees no signs of Bilbo. For any questions asked about him they are dodged or danced around. She finally sees him when the week has nearly ended, walking back to the tent where she has been spending her nights. Bilbo sits atop a barrel with his legs swinging back and forth, chin cupped in his hands.

"Elvish camp, we're safe here. No dwarves are allowed near this place which I suspect is mainly because Thranduil wants to spite them. Tauriel would like to speak with you. She's in the tent furthest down, away from all the others. After you speak with her come and talk to me." Bilbo says and gives his leg a small swing. Sigrid lingers, chewing on the inside of her cheek and glancing over the sea of tents. There is only one pushed away from the others, only one that is set on the edge.

The inside of Tauriel's tent is fancier than the one belonging to her family but she suspects that it is worse than the other elves. The redhead elf sits alone on a stained mattress, her long legs folded up to her chest and her eyes focused on a corner of the tent.

"Thranduil told me tonight that my mother was some human in a brothel. She gave birth to me, decided that she did not want me and handed me over to someone else. I was passed around until finally I ended up in the Woodland Realm. All I know about her is that she had red hair and she was paid to make men and women happy. And my father, he was long gone by the time I was old enough to walk and talk. He allowed me to stay only as a courtesy and by betraying him—I am banished. Legolas is going north to find the rangers. When he will return, if he will return I don't know but he has asked for me to join him. Could I show you something?"

"Yes you can show me anything you wish." Tauriel hesitates and then grabbing the hem of her tunic lifts it, stopping just short of her breasts. Sigrid is nearly knocked back by the sharpness of the scent, clapping a hand over her mouth in an attempt to keep a gag at bay. There are poorly wrapped bandages around her middle. The bandages wrapped around her middle are filthy and in desperate need of a changing. Sigrid suspects that the wound underneath has not been cleaned since the battle, that the bandages are the same ones there that she put on upon discovering her wounds.

"I went to bathe yesterday and pus poured from my wound and now I cannot sleep for fever starting." Tauriel says as she allows the tunic to drop. Sigrid hesitates, waiting for the scent to disappear before finally she drops her hand and clears her throat.

"There are herbs and salves, medicines available to heal you."

"Maybe…maybe I don't want to be healed. I'm the daughter of a, a…I can't even say it. I'm banished. I am nothing but walking death, waiting for it." Sigrid chews on the inside of her cheek, crossing the small distance between them and coming to sit beside her.

"You live under the thumb of a king for six hundred years, learning how to fight and how to live by his rules. Evil comes and you fight it but it keeps coming back and you don't win, you never ever win. It's an endless battle, a loop that you become stuck in and you wriggle and fight and scream and toss but cannot get free of. Then suddenly you're 'free' but you have no idea of how you're supposed to live. And you find that really, you don't want to live."

"Your mother was not just some woman. She was once somebody's daughter, friend, maybe their sister. There was maybe a point when she loved you and she was happy to be carrying you. Someone somewhere loved you with all they had." Sigrid says quietly and reaches for her shoulder only to pull away, curling her fingers up. Tauriel is moving to lie down, pulling her knees towards her chest as Sigrid walks out. Immediately she comes face to face with Bilbo who wraps himself around her, pressing his face against her stomach for a moment before he is invisible.

"They're awake."

* * *

Awake but she does not have access to the tent with the amount of dwarves and elves spilling out of it, all of them talking in loud, rushed tones. Sigrid winds up sitting outside of the tent with a decent amount of space put between her and the group of dwarves that have gathered at the news of the awakening. She has been sitting long enough for her butt to begin tingling when finally Bofur plops down beside her, hat askew and clothes covered in soot. Twirling the ends of his mustache he chews on the inside of his cheek, looking first at the ground then at the sky before finally he looks at Sigrid with his shoulders hunched up towards his ears.

"I understand that you have…I don't mean to offend lass but I don't want to call it the wrong thing. You have somewhat of a…I guess ye could say a way to talk to others that cannot be seen or are somewhere that cannot be reached. I haven't seen our burglar since the Arkenstone incident and I wonder about him." Beside her Bilbo bites down on his lower lip and Sigrid feels the slip of his fingers through hers as she looks at Bofur.

"What are you wondering?"

"The night before we left Bilbo stayed away from the rest of us. He stood there in the bathroom and he just stared at the bathtub. I knew there was something wrong and I knew about, I knew something had happened that was. Mahal, something had happened before and it was there, taking him back to that place again. I couldn't be bothered though. I was drinking my ale and laughing and singing and what burglar? What hobbit? Who is Bilbo? None of us have seen him, none of the elves, none of the men have seen him and we know nothing. All I can think about is that he could be dead. What if he's dead? And his last memory was that he just was in that place, stuck there with all those bad memories and things and there was no one for him." Bilbo waits until there is a loud ruckus from a group of nearby dwarves and then he is leaning forward, poising his lips by her ear.

"I want him to admit that he was wrong, that he knows what he did was wrong, that what they all did was wrong."

"Did something happen inside the mountain?" Sigrid asks and it is meant for him but it is Bofur who answers.

"Yes, yes and I am sorry. I am so sorry." Around her ear Bilbo's lips curve into a smile and his breath gusts over her skin as he straightens up with a whisper of 'it's about time'. Bofur stares at her, blinking furiously now as he stares at the ground, the sky and she realizes that he is trying desperately to blink away tears. Sigrid opens her mouth and then closes it, standing and with her hand still in Bilbo's follows after him. He leads her back to the elf camp and into the elven king's tent where she finds herself face to face with Thranduil himself.

The sight of his face, much like Tauriel's wound nearly knocks her back. He allows her a moment of staring; only a few seconds of gaping before he is raising his eyebrows and demanding to know if all she can do is stare. What happens next is certainly nothing her da would approve of and something he would probably stroke out over knowing she had done it a time or two before.

Everything about the elven king seems to be made of silk, stretched thin with its color lost from one too many washes. Pale and long he towers over her even lying down; long limbs draped over the edges of the bed and scarred face on display. He is not free of roughness. There are a couple of callouses that she does not dare question on his palms and his fingers that scratch her already dry skin. He does not smell of dragon smoke but of foul things; evil and darkness, deep seeded sorrow that is wrapped in ice and encased in molten steel. She can feel it in the way he touches her, see it in the way that he touches Bilbo. Fingertips brush their skin, almost touching, almost allowing them to truly feel the touch but not as if fearing a true touch will cause them to dissolve into ash, into dust and they will be lost on the wind. Bilbo touches them like he has been starved and this is the last time that he will ever be allowed a touch. He squeezes and pulls, grips until she swears that their skin will be permanently bruised.

Bilbo is hairier than the elven king, plush thighs and legs covered with fuzzy hair leading down to his feet and wiry hairs at the base of his cock. He is curvier than lean and muscled.

She wants it all. She wants them both inside, in her hands, her mouth. She's selfish for wanting. She wants it to be someone else. She feels so wrong for asking. Teetering on that edge she looks at Bilbo, leaking and watching her, toes curling and so very soft. She's riding a wave of borrowed pleasure, teetering on the very brink of her own. There is an overwhelming sense of fullness. Of silky hair brushing her shoulder and a cock, erect and dripping pre-cum brushing her thigh as Bilbo slides up along her back. Teetering, almost there, nearly.

Thrusts become more out of desperate need than for want; words slurred together in what they hope can be some kind of coherent sentence as one by one they fall apart, each riding the borrowed wave of pleasure from the last person to finish. Sigrid comes down from her delirious high with a throbbing between her legs and a heaving chest; toes curling on the bed as the king peppers kisses across her face. Bilbo is sitting on the edge, legs extended out in front of him as he breathes in and then out again.

"You both talked during." Sigrid finally says mid kiss and the king pulls back, hesitating for a moment then nodding.

"I began to wet the bed after what happened with my mother. It was decided at first that it was all just the trauma of the event, normal for a fauntling under such stress. Then I couldn't stop. Each night I would wet the bed, again and again. I wore diapers partly out of need, partly out of comfort knowing it would mean there would be no wet sheets and that my mother had no won that night. It continued past my coming of age until the quest. Gandalf and I had an agreement it was to remain a private, discreet matter and it was. Then we stayed in that blasted house."

"That bath it was just like the one we used to have. I stood there and stared, waiting for my mother to come and find me. Then in the mountain the bathtubs were everywhere. I found a room that used to be for communal bathing and I wet myself without thinking about it. I felt fear wash over me and it just happened. The dwarves found me and it was so funny. The burglar wets himself. Let's fill the baths, let's bathe him. Let's wash him." Bilbo's tone turns a shade darker now as he looks at her.

"They found a washtub and filled it with water then forced me into the tub because of dragon sickness and clouded minds. I remember hearing this voice crying out for their mother and it was me, it was me wanting my mother." With a sharp exhale he is standing up, grabbing his clothes and running his hands through his curls.

"I'm going to be leaving in a few days Sigrid, thinking of going to Rivendell. I didn't get a chance to properly enjoy it and I'm not quite ready for home. I've…I've had it here. I'm tired." Bilbo says quietly and trails off.

"There's something I would like for you to do before you go Bilbo, please." Sigrid says and his nod is barely noticeable.

* * *

And so they return for the last time together to Ravenhill, settling into a crevice and leaning back against the walls they face each other. Bilbo is the first one to speak.

"Everyone is going to ask about me back at home, I know. After what happened with my mother, I rarely left the house and I think I know what I'll tell them now. I can't believe just how fast everything is, how little time there seems to be for everything I want to do. Everyone is in such a hurry they don't seem to enjoy what it is they set out to do.

"That I did my best to keep up and fight but a lot of times, a lot of times. A lot of times I just wasn't strong enough. That I thought of my mother a lot, almost all the time. I kept hoping maybe she would show up somewhere on the path. But she never did. I hope that she's happy though. I had trouble sleeping because of bad dreams where there was water, there was always water. That I couldn't remember where I was a lot of times and that I laid there scared. I'm too tired for adventures; too tired for being scared all the time and that…I'm too tired to be strong anymore." And then he stands, walking alone towards the areas where they fell. He stares at the blood which has dried, a mix of theirs, a mix of the goblins and he sighs.

"I've been terrified of this place. I thought if I came here it would replace everything you were and be my last memory of you. Your faces, your eyes, your laughter, your hair would be replaced by this and I couldn't stand the thought. I'm going to try, I really am." And she watches silent as he peels off his mithril shirt and lays it across the ground, hands smoothing twice and then stepping back. Bilbo stares at it for a moment then sighs, shoulders slumping as he gives a small almost laugh, shaking his head.

"I really am going to try Sigrid, it doesn't replace them. It doesn't replace them." Bilbo says, still staring at the mithril shirt and humming a tune begins his climb down Ravenhill. And it is with her arms wrapped around her legs, eyes focused on her worn boots she lifts her tear streaked face but does not look over her shoulder.

"I don't know how to try Bilbo, I don't know how." And burying her face into her homespun skirt Sigrid finally allows herself to sob.

* * *

1\. Sorry for any mistakes as I have not edited, will do so later. It's one in the morning and I have to be up in a few hours.

2\. I cannot tell you all how much I cried while writing this and now we may have a happy ending. Yeah, I laughed too.

3\. The threesome was actually meant to happen next chapter, I think? But it happened here and it was necessary to bring out Sigrid's main struggle because so far she has been a very strong character emotionally but she has been through hell and back. And through the threesome she was allowed a physical and emotional release which kind of made her come down from her high of being alive and realize that not everything is okay.

Finally The reason that I made Tauriel a half elf was because the only elves to have been recorded as having red hair were all Noldorin. And I personally felt her backstory was extremely lacking which leaves room for personal head canons. And if you want an image of Bard's wife, look at Mirena from Dracula Untold.


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